


How Do You Like Your Eggs?

by Rosie_Rues



Series: The Rising Storm [24]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1980, Community: dogdaysofsummer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-04
Updated: 2006-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:18:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/Rosie_Rues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius, Remus, Peter. A greasy spoon in Scunthorpe. 1980.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Do You Like Your Eggs?

“Bloody good sausage, this,” Peter said, his mouth full.

Sirius scowled down at _The Sun_ , where today’s topless model was now speckled with rat spittle, and snorted.

“It’s Lincolnshire sausage, that’s why,” Remus said, trying to scoop up runny egg with his toast.

Sirius went back to separating his baked beans with his fork, as Peter said dubiously, “Are we in Lincolnshire?”

“Scunthorpe is in Lincolnshire, yes,” Remus said primly, licking toast crumbs off his fingers.

Sirius speared a single baked bean, and sucked it off the end of his fork. He saw Remus’ fingers twitch. Hah.

“And Lincolnshire sausages are?”

“Famous,” Remus said firmly. Sirius ate another baked bean. “All the local butchers have their own secret recipes, and they compete to make the best sausages.”

Peter put his fork down. Sirius paused with a bean between his lips.

“You know this?” Peter said incredulously.

Remus shuffled back into the seat and muttered, “It’s written on the back of the menu.”

Peter sighed with relief and went back to his breakfast. His plate was ringed with the salt and pepper, and two squirty bottles of tomato sauce, like a defensive wall. Sirius flicked one with the tip of his finger and watched gleefully as it descended towards Peter’s mushrooms, swimming in their pool of ketchup.

Remus caught it and gave him a Look (it was undeniably a capitalised Look).

“Wanker,” Peter said. “If you’re not eating your sausage, can I have it?”

“I’m saving it,” Sirius said and went back to his baked beans, working through them one by one, staring around the greasy spoon with interest. All the tables were covered in chipped plastic, and the red fake-leather on the seats was torn.

He wondered what was in the yellow squirty bottle, and whether Pete would like some.

“Put the mustard _down_ ,” Remus said as he reached out.

Sirius sent him a full-force stare of infinite reproach. Remus pursed his lips. Sirius ate another baked bean, slurping it slowly off the fork, and then licking his lips. Remus twitched.

“Think she’s had it yet?” Peter asked.

“Not due until the start of August,” Remus said wearily. Sirius had lost count of how many times they’d had this conversation overnight.

“Pah,” Peter said, spraying the paper again. “Babies come early all the time. Everyone knows that.”

“Look what you’ve done to the lovely Linda,” Sirius said, picking at a piece of bacon for a change. Besmirched.”

They all looked down at the lovely Linda, 21, who hailed from Skegness and hand-reared Dalmatian puppies.

“Gives her freckles,” Peter said. “I like freckles.”

“I can’t believe I know either of you,” Remus muttered. “We’re supposed to be looking for Muggle awareness of attacks.”

“Bet you old Snivellus would pay money to attack the lovely Linda,” Sirius said, sniggering.

He got another Look.

Unrepentant, he reached over and stole Remus’ tomato, despite the fact his own still lay on his plate.

“Will you cut it out?” Remus hissed.

Hah. Victory! The unflappable was flapping. Sirius wrapped his tongue around the tomato and drew it into his mouth, letting his lashes dip.

“Cut what out?” he asked when he was done.

“You know perfectly well what!” Remus snapped.

“Remind me,” he said, spearing a mushroom. The butter had slipped off his toast and coated it, and he brushed it against his lips, watching Remus shiver.

“You’re doing that _thing_ with the baked beans!”

“Do you two want some private time?” Peter enquired, crunching his toast.

Remus retreated, murmuring, “No, that’s alright, cheers mate.”

Sirius glared at them both, and shoved to his feet. He didn’t bother looking back as he stalked out of the café and along the grubby street. Fucking Scunthorpe. Fucking Lincolnshire. Fucking Remus Lupin pretending to be prim.

Fucking James. Fucking Peter. Fucking war.

He found an alley, and stormed down it, trying not to breathe too hard. It was already hot, and the air was so thick that every stink and scent clung close to the ground.

He came out in a gravelly car park behind a row of shops. Pissed off by the very touch of the air, he slumped back against the wall, and began to fish through his pockets for a cigarette.

He tensed at the sound of footsteps on the gravel and then grinned as Remus came round the corner.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Remus demanded.

Sirius shrugged. “Nothing. Everything.”

Remus muttered a Disillusionment Charm, and Sirius’ spirits lifted. He was either about to get punched or kissed and either would be better than this endless waiting for nothing. It wasn’t that he wanted a Death Eater attack – he had some decency. He was just sick of doing nothing.

“You,” Remus said, moving in, “have spent the entire morning being a complete and utter wanker.”

“I’m not a wanker,” Sirius said happily, wrapping his hand around Remus’ hip. “Got you for that.”

Remus rolled his eyes and nudged closer. “And for this my breakfast is getting cold?”

“I’ll warm your sausage up for you, Moony,” Sirius said, working his fingers under Remus’ shirt.

“Oh, good God,” Remus said weakly, and Sirius smirked. Odd bloke, that Remus Lupin. You could be having a perfectly reasonable conversation with him, and then he’d just start stuttering and muttering for no reason. Anyone would think-

His line of speculation was cut off when Remus grabbed his shoulders, shoved him back against the wall and kissed him until he was too weak-kneed to smirk.


End file.
